Page 29 of A Billionaire for Christmas

MEET THE FAMILY… AND OTHER TRAUMATIC EXPERIENCES

Molly arrived at the lodge five minutes behind Levi, red-faced and puffy-eyed.

Exactly as she had left. Levi had helped scoop the snow off her snowmobile and fixed her cases to the trailer in frosty silence.

He had tested the machine was working correctly before handing her the keys, but he had absolutely refused to listen to any explanation regarding the letter.

The only words he seemed to have digested were inheritance, bucket list, billionaire, hot tub, naked and deadline.

He wore an incredulous expression on his face every time they accidentally made eye contact, as though words failed him.

Toby was waiting on the steps but had the presence of mind not to question why it appeared as though Molly had been crying. How embarrassing. He helped her with the suitcases and indicated the back route into the lodge.

‘Take your time. I’ll cover the family until you feel well enough to join us.’

‘Thanks. But just so you know, these are tears of frustration and anger and disappointment… with men… and life in general.’

Toby backed away from her like she was an unexploded bomb. ‘Good to know.’

Molly thumped into her room and threw the cases on her bed.

Because he was behaving like a stubborn idiot and cutting her off each time she tried to explain, Levi was assuming she was callous and manipulative and treating him as though he was just a box to be ticked.

But, thanks to a string of unfortunate events, she hadn’t done that.

‘See what you’ve done, Ava?’ Molly yelled as she emptied her cases and stuffed her clothes roughly back into drawers and cupboards.

She spotted the journal lying on the bed next to the letter.

She would never understand why Ava had written the completion of her bucket list into her will, nor why she had spent the best part of the year grieving and staring into space instead of just getting on with it.

She folded the letter carefully, placed it inside the journal and shoved it under her pillow.

The clock was ticking. With only three days to go, she needed to reply to the solicitor with a progress report, send him photos of the pages she had managed to complete so far and sign the papers he’d emailed her ages ago.

* * *

A short while later, Molly found herself alone in the kitchen, yet again, taking out her frustrations on a basket of vegetables.

She wasn’t looking forward to seeing Levi.

She had no idea what to say to him or how to act around him.

Yes, it looked bad. Yes, it looked like she was targeting a billionaire, but the bucket list challenge had been drinks with him in a hot tub.

Whereas she had tried to seduce Levi, many, many times, in a variety of settings, so it was an entirely different…

Molly stopped chopping. Even by her standards that line of reasoning sounded very weak.

Never mind that Levi was a trained lawyer.

Typical. But at least he could have read the letter properly instead of picking out the few incriminating words that made her look bad.

‘Hi,’ said a glamorous woman, waltzing into the room.

‘You must be the chef. I assume you’ve been informed about my gluten intolerance.

Can you make sure you serve all my meals without wheat?

And if you’re thinking of doing shared plates, then don’t.

I’m also wondering whether an alkaline-based diet might be the thing.

My pH levels are all over the place. Do that too. ’

Her manners were certainly all over the place . Molly glanced up from the chopping board. Before she could reply, the impeccably dressed woman continued.

‘Now, I’ve heard all about your weird and wonderful meat sculptures, but I’m telling you now, that avant-garde nonsense won’t be of any interest to me. I like my nutrition to resemble food, not people. This isn’t the Museum of Modern Art.’

Ah. The sausage-meat face.

Molly felt herself blush. How unprofessional. ‘Understood.’

‘Ignore my mother,’ Lucca said, sauntering over. ‘She has a different intolerance every other day. What was it last week? Allergic to poor people?’

The stern-looking woman in her late sixties huffed at him over the top of her glasses.

Molly noticed her slender fingers weighed down with a plethora of antique-looking diamond, platinum and gold rings, the expensive cashmere dress hugging her slim frame, subtle lowlights streaking her perfectly shiny bobbed grey hair.

‘Molly, meet Valerie. The matriarch,’ Lucca said, sweeping his arms dramatically towards his mother. ‘I’d love to say wicked stepmother but I’m afraid I did actually smash my way out of there.’ He grimaced. ‘Her words, not mine.’

Valerie rolled her eyes at him. ‘And I still haven’t fully recovered.’

Molly waited for her to laugh the joke off, but she didn’t. ‘Nice to meet you,’ Molly said, holding out a hand.

Valerie stared at the outstretched limb with confusion, perhaps even mild horror.

‘Mother doesn’t do touching or hugging.’ Lucca shook his head sadly at Valerie. ‘Not even with her own children.’

Ignoring her son, Valerie smiled tightly at Molly. ‘I’ve heard a lot about you.’

‘None of it true, I hope,’ Molly joked, retracting the handshake. Lord only knew what Levi had said about her.

Valerie knitted her eyebrows together. ‘Petra said you were very talented. My good friend was a guest at one of your lunches. I had been wondering if we could discuss potential catering for the wedding.’

‘Mother. Leave the poor woman alone. She’s literally just arrived back from a very traumatic experience.

’ Lucca gave Molly a sympathetic look. ‘Snowed in with my brother for almost two days. It doesn’t come more harrowing than that.

’ He winked at her. ‘Did he make you sit in silence and watch him work?’

‘Only while he had me wearing the gag ball and handcuffs,’ she replied flatly.

While Lucca howled with laughter and Valerie looked confused, Molly was thankful that no one could see the humiliating images her brain was currently showing her.

She’d have been lucky to get as far as handcuffs.

Levi had a will of iron when it came to resisting her.

‘It’s fine.’ She wiped her hands on a teacloth, keen to get back on topic. ‘I’d love to discuss wedding menus. I have quite a lot of ideas that?—’

Valerie tutted at Lucca before training her piercing sky-blue eyes on Molly.

‘You wouldn’t be the main caterer. Good Lord!

’ She seemed to find the idea so funny that she had to grip the bench with one hand while placing the other to her chest, her laughter coming in small silent huffs.

‘No. No. We’ll be getting proper Michelin chefs in to do the actual food.

You’d do the nibbles. To accompany the welcome drinks on day one, or possibly day three.

It depends how good you are. Oh, and each day is colour coordinated so the canapés will have to reflect that. ’

‘Colour-matched food?’

‘Yes. Though can you believe, I’m having trouble getting a caterer to commit to a Santorini theme? I mean, how hard can it be to do blue and white food?’ She shook her head.

Blue food. The most natural of all the food colours. Molly had no words.

‘And before you say it, not blueberries. I can’t stand them.’

‘Mother. Stop micromanaging and let her get on with dinner. Merci , Molly.’ Lucca dragged his mother away from the open-plan kitchen to the living room area. ‘Where’s Papa?’

‘Where do you bloody think? He’s online golfing. Again. I mean, why does he even bother to come anywhere with us? I’d divorce him, if only I had the time. Now, be a darling and get me the number of those caterers who did that event for you in Chambéry.’

Molly tried not to eavesdrop but the place was so ridiculously open plan, she could hear every word.

‘Have you tried talking to him?’

‘Lucca. Don’t be ridiculous. I haven’t tried to talk to him in twenty years. I’m not going to start now. He never listened then. He won’t listen now. Stubborn fool.’

Molly watched Lucca guide his mother to the far corner of the living area where Valerie proceeded to scroll through her phone. Three family members down. Three to go.

‘Go on then, I’ll have a margarita,’ said a young woman, sweeping into the kitchen.

She was immaculately groomed, skin glowing, not a single hair out of place, eyebrows microbladed into perfect arches, tinted lashes curling towards the ceiling and dressed for a weekend in Ibiza, even though it was minus forty outside. ‘Two twists and an extra shot.’

‘Does she look like a mixologist?’ Lucca yelled, walking back over. ‘Molly, this is my emotionally dysregulated sister Freda. She’s a raging alcoholic. Please don’t serve her anything.’

Freda whacked him on the shoulder. ‘Ignore him. I’m not. But make it a double, please. I’m having a terrible day.’

‘Life is so awful for you, ma p’tite soeur . Molly, imagine having to get up at noon, drink cocktails all day, scroll through your phone and then go back to bed. Tragic. How do you cope?’

This earned Lucca another wallop, this time to the stomach.

‘I’m drinking because I have a lot on.’

‘You sound like Mother.’

‘Yes, well. If she wasn’t intent on organising the world’s longest wedding, I wouldn’t be so stressed. Did you know she’s insisting on a different colour scheme for each day?’

Molly rubbed the back of her neck, inwardly wincing. She felt very sorry for the wedding guests. It would be a lot of work to coordinate outfits and gifts with the theme.

‘She’s even thinking of doing mirror-image weddings. One here in France, and one in the States! Who are we going to invite? Rooby is furious. He’s only got two close friends and one of his parents is already dead.’

‘Speaking of the groom, where is your poor spouse to be?’ Lucca was searching the fridge for something.

‘He’s not coming.’